


Just a Look

by Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me



Series: Copious Cockles [14]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Angry Misha, Angry Sex, Arguing, Best Friends, Car Sex, Friendship/Love, Jealous Jensen, Jealousy, M/M, Rough Sex, SDCC, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-27 08:34:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7611094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me/pseuds/Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jared and Misha are becoming closer ... and Jensen doesn't like it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just a Look

It was just a look. A quick glance, really—but that was all it took for Misha to figure it out. Jensen was jealous of Jared. It seems obvious now that he thinks about it; but for the life of him—the last few days he truly had no idea why one of his best friends was acting the way that he was. Yeah, he always gets a little too giggly when they’re on stage together, and his Freudian slips have been occurring more and more lately, but it wasn’t like _this._ This was practically deliberate. The ass smacks. The constant innuendo. The compliments and _the staring,_ and then of course, Jared won’t ever let one of those moments pass by without adding _his_ two cents—so, before Misha knew it, they were at the end of the weekend and basically “out” to the world.

And he was lost as to _why_.

Lost until Jensen gave him that look.

It happened when they were backstage after their last Nerd HQ panel, and Jared was joking around with Misha for the billionth time about that dumb fart story. Which then turned into a conversation about the worst farts that _he’s_ ever had—which then turned into talking about their kids farting, and soon, Jared was laughing so hard that he was crying, and Misha was in just about the same boat. But after he was done wiping his eyes and telling Jared that he was such an idiot, the guy responded in his usual Jared-way, and wrapped Misha up in a hug. His feet were quickly off the ground, but just as his ribs were being crushed in the moose’s vice-grip hold, that's when Misha caught a peek at Jensen’s face from over Jared’s shoulder. It was blank for the most part—the _forced_ kind of blank he gets when he doesn’t want anyone knowing what he’s thinking, and especially not what he’s feeling. But if you know him, like how Misha knows him, then you can see it all in his eyes. And as Misha dangled helplessly in Jared’s arms, he saw Jensen’s jealously screaming loud and clear. It was practically highlighted in neon and printed in all caps. There was no mistaking, and really—there was no reason for it either.

Sure, Misha _has_ been getting a little closer with Jared lately, mainly because they have more things to relate on now. They both have two kids— _correction_ : two hyenas that maul them daily. And even though Maison is his perfect,  baby girl, she gets more influenced by West every second. Tom and Shep are apparently just the same—as soon as one does something _not so pleasant_ , the other follows suit … new and improved, and it can drive Jared absolutely mad sometimes. So yeah, they can talk for _days_ now about the chaos that their offspring creates, and they can share their war stories in endless misery and pride. It’s nice—having someone to commiserate with; because he can’t really do that with Jensen. Yes, the man has JJ ... but that girl is just like her daddy—calm, cool and collected. She can bat her eyelashes and get whatever she wants without ever raising her voice or lifting a finger. She is honestly the most elegant little thing Misha has ever met, and she is absolutely, completely, and indefinitely the _opposite_ of his kids. So when he talks about West ruining his car, or all the new curse words that Maison is insisting on spouting, Jensen can only talk about how JJ did his make-up one day, or made him play dress up with her for hours on end. Not that Misha doesn’t enjoy those stories, or enjoy sharing his own with Jensen; but there’s just something about talking with someone who _gets it._ Jared gets it.

But so what?

Why does that mean Jensen gets to get all huffy? Just because Misha found something to share with their other friend? Well … something to share other than the abuse of his crotch area. It’s actually really nice … Jensen should be happy for him. Misha isn't getting tortured as much, and Jared is in good spirits. Everyone wins. Right?

_Right._

So, why is Jensen putting a damper on something so good? Obviously, he’s not doing anything _horrible ..._ but he doesn’t seem to quite understand the repercussions of all this flirtatiousness.

And, _of course he doesn’t._

He’s not on Twitter and Facebook and Instagram like Misha is—other than to stalk Misha, apparently. So, why would he care if they all go nuts, or if Misha gets seven trillion tweets about every word that Jensen said?

Exactly _, he won’t_.

Fuck, Jensen really should know better. Misha has _told_ him that he needs to be more careful, especially since _Jensen_ is the one who worries about them being too obvious all the time, and now he’s pulling _this_ shit?

What the actual fuck?

He’s going to have to have a talk with him … as soon as he gets a chance—gets him alone. Misha is going to have to set him straight … in the _true_ meaning, and not the obnoxiously skewed one that he decided to have a fucking conniption over while on stage.

And it looks like _now_ he’ll be getting his chance.

Jensen just said he’s heading to the parking garage to get something from his rental.

 _Perfect_.

With some subtly and a few quick side steps, Misha begins to follow him; letting Jared know along the way.  He tells him that he’s going to have a talk with the guy and he’d appreciate it if Jared could keep Clif and whoever else from coming down to try and find them. The moose looks at him with a wrinkled brow ... and a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Shut up! I’m going to give him a piece of my mind” Misha grumbles, smacking Jared on the arm before he starts to laugh too.

“Is that what you kids are calling it these days?”

Now Misha _is_ laughing. _Damnit_. “Seriously! You were there today, you saw how he was acting.”

“Like a bratty five year old screaming ‘pay attention to me?’” Jared chuckles.

“Exactly! I don’t know what is going on with him” Misha lies, because he knows if he tells Jared the real reason why Jensen is acting a fool, Jared will do everything he can to ensure that Jensen _continues_ acting a fool from here on out.

“I think he just doesn’t like sharing you. You two have spent most of the last two weeks on set—uninterrupted and unsupervised.”

Misha scoffs. “Unsupervised? Is that what you call your relentless torture and pitting Jensen against me?”

Jared just shrugs and smiles wider.

“Whatever. But yeah, I suppose you’re right. We have had a lot more one-on-one time than usual, so maybe he just got used to that.” Misha is wondering why he hadn’t thought of that before either; but it doesn’t really matter now. Nothing gives Jensen the excuse to be quite _this_ needy. In fact, him having had more of Misha than usual should actually assuage this sort of thing, shouldn’t it? “Anyway, can you hold off the masses so I can talk to him alone?”

Jared nods and claps him on the shoulder, already distracting himself with the view of the buffet table that’s being set up on the other side of the room. “Yeah, you got it. Go give your man a piece of your mind … or a piece of your dick, whatever makes him stop trying to hump your leg in public.”

Misha chuckles as he gives Jared a half-hug. “Thanks. I owe ya one.”

“Just give me your piece of cake when you come back and we’ll call it square.”

Misha twists his face in confusion—until he sees the large, five tiered cake that’s being wheeled out in celebration of a successful Comic-Con. “You got it.”

“Sweet” Jared whispers gleefully, already taking a long stride in the direction of the cake.

Misha laughs as he watches the man float into the crowd of other con volunteers and guests, almost forgetting his original task at hand—he needs to go catch Jensen before he gets whatever it is that he’s getting and starts to head back up here. The parking garage where all the special guests park or have their chauffeurs park should be fairly empty right now, considering everyone that is still here is backstage or are still signing autographs.

He sprints out the double doors and heads down the long corridor that goes past the dressing rooms and various conference areas. Then he barrels through some other doors—nearly knocking down a few volunteers in the process. He mutters _sorry_ before making his way at last into the garage.

It takes him a few minutes to spot him, but he’s happy that when he does, Jensen is still ducking into the trunk of his rental car. Why the guy always insists on renting when he’s in this area, Misha doesn’t know. Maybe it’s because he used to live around here— _sorta_ , and  he likes to be in control. Who knows, anyway—it doesn’t matter. Misha is on a mission and nothing is going to stop him now. He patters harshly, but quietly down the long aisle until he’s standing right behind the man, who apparently didn’t hear him coming at all because he still doesn’t turn around when Misha inches in even closer.

“Hey” Misha barks, and the loud noise is only enhanced by the echoing cement.

“Shit!” Jensen yelps, jolting upward and hitting his head on the trunk hinge. “Dude, what the fuck?”

Misha feels a little bad about him hurting himself—but not enough to lose this momentum he has going. “I could ask you the same question.”

Jensen has turned to face him and is now rubbing the top of his head—expression bleary with question. “What the hell are ya talkin’ about?”

“You damn well know!”

Jensen drops his hand only to throw it out to the side in exasperation.

Misha groans and rolls his eyes. “All the comments? The ass smacking? The _that’s how he sounds in the morning_ shit?”

Jensen’s face flattens slightly and he stands straighter against the bumper. “What about it?”

“Seriously? You’re the one who is always on guard, always freaking out about what the public knows and what they don’t … and I know you’ve been a little more lax about it all lately, but _today_? _This whole weekend_? I mean, come on!”

The other man doesn’t move, just slowly lifts his gaze from Misha’s eyes to just over his shoulder and into some nameless spot in the distance.

“Well? Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Jensen continues to glaze over before he finally shrugs.

Misha feels the frustration bubble up his throat. Jensen is just _trying_ to be obnoxious now. Well, two can play at that game. “I mean—it’s not like you really have anything to be upset about. We both know I’ve always thought Jared was handsome, _so what_ if I’m starting to be attracted to everything else about him too?”

Jensen’s eyes clear instantly and narrow back on Misha—fury and hurt flickering in and out of the black like insects skittering from their holes. “Not cool, man.”

Misha motions nonchalantly. “What? You have to admit … he and I are more connected these days, more in sync. Who knows … maybe he’s starting to come to the bi-side.”

“Dude …” Jensen warns.

And Misha knows he should quit, but _he’s_ suffered through practically three days of Jensen’s bullshit—the guy can last a few more minutes. “Do you think Gen would mind? I think she might be open to it.”

“Okay, you know what—” Jensen hisses, turning quickly to slam his trunk closed before stepping in close to Misha’s face, until they’re practically nose to nose, “this isn’t funny anymore.”

“What’s wrong, Jensen? You don’t like people catching you off guard?”

Those green eyes widen ever so slightly with realization. “You’re an ass.”

“Takes one to know one.” _Admittedly_ , it’s not his best come back but it works when he’s dealing with someone who has already been acting so childish.

“You know what, man …” Jensen shoulders past him, apparently attempting to storm out of this conversation; but Misha is nowhere close to done yet.

He reaches out and grabs Jensen’s arm, swinging him back around so they can be face to face once more. “We’re _still_ talking.”

“No, it seems like you’re just trying to get me back—back for _nothing_ , really.”

“ _Nothing_?” Misha yelps, gaping at the other man in disbelief.

“Yeah. You’re blowing this whole thing out of proportion.”

“Oh, you think so?” Misha asks, already pulling his hands to his hips.

Jensen looks him up and down and then crosses his arms over his puffed up chest. “Yeah, I do.”

With that, and a small smirk—Misha coolly shifts his weight and leans so he can pull his phone out of his pocket. In the matter of seconds, he has Twitter open and searches “Jensen Ackles” in the tags. In no time at all, tweet after tweet appears with gifs of their recent panel and quotes of all the asinine things that the guy had been spewing. Misha smirks again as he turns the phone so Jensen can see.

Jensen’s falters ever so slightly, but then tightens his arms around himself. “So? It’s not like that really matters.”

Misha rolls his eyes as hard as he possibly can. “Jensen, _everything_ you do matters to them! Don’t you get that by now? No—I _know_ you get that, because _you’re_ usually the one telling _me_ to cool it. But at least I’m just trying to give the fans a good show— _you’re_ whole charade this weekend was because you are being pointedly petty and jealous.”

“I …” Jensen finally unfolds his arms and shuffles in place, deciding to shove his hands in his pockets instead. “I really don’t need to be listening to this.” The man then turns and attempts to walk away again.

“Will you stop doing that?” Misha yaps, twisting Jensen around for a second time.

“Will you quit trying to make this an argument?” Jensen snarls back, eyeing Misha down coldly.

“I will if you could just be a man and apologize.”

The two stare at one another for some time, and Misha wonders if this all is still about the anger, or more about who can out-stubborn who.

Either way, Misha decides to add insult to injury. “ _Well_?”

Jensen’s nostrils flare and his jaw twitches and— _God damnit_ , he’s really fucking hot when he does that.

Misha concentrates on his own skin … _don’t move, don’t flinch._

But damn if Jensen doesn’t know him inside and out by now.

_The fucker licks his lip._

And that’s all it takes for Misha to growl, thrusting forward and biting that bottom lip between his teeth until he’s sure it might bleed; and the next thing he knows, Jensen’s hands are in his hair and he’s biting back. “Fuck you” he rumbles down the other man’s freckled throat, only to rut helplessly against him when Jensen mutters “About fucking time.” It’s all the incentive Misha needs to tangle his fists in Jensen’s jacket and whip him around, practically tossing him against the back of the car. Jensen grunts, but doesn’t complain—he just pulls Misha towards him so they can devour each other’s tongues once more.

“Get in the backseat” Misha commands, but Jensen resists, which is unlike him. Usually when Misha gives an order, Jensen follows it—no question, but not this time. Misha roars again. “Get back there before I pick you up and _throw_ _you_ back there.”

Jensen still doesn’t do as he’s told, instead, only smirking and making small, guttural noises that are too close to a laugh for Misha to stand.

_That’s it._

Misha tightens one fist in that expensive fabric as the other leads them to the side of the car so it can open the backdoor. With all his strength, he shoves Jensen backwards, nearly making him knock his head on the doorframe before he tumbles to his haunches.

Now Jensen _does_ laugh, but it’s a snide sound that sounds more like a dare to Misha’s ears than actual humor.

“I don’t know why I put up with all your shit” he snaps, bending down to yank open Jensen’s pants—pleased when some of the seams audibly rip.

“God damnit” Jensen grunts, looking down at his pants—obviously annoyed that they’re probably torn.

Now _Misha_ laughs, knowing it’ll piss Jensen off just like it did, _him_. He waits until he sees the green ignite before he tears down the guy’s briefs too—licking his lips when Jensen’s cock pops out—hard and welcoming him. Misha grips it in his angry fingers and twists up, knowing it’s rough and too dry and it’ll burn like a son of a bitch; and Jensen’s accompanying grimace only punctuates his thought.

“Really?” Jensen barks, looking down at his tortured cock and then back into all that conniving blue.

“Yeah—really.”

Jensen scoffs. “Just because I made some jokes and complimented you? Yeah, I’m such an ass.” He shifts against the leather of the backseat until he’s propped on his elbows.

“You know it was more than that” Misha says with another too-dry yank.

“Fuck!” the other man bellows, but his tip begins to unmistakably leak, and Misha grins.

“Someone likes it rough, apparently.”

Jensen moans and throws his head back as Misha makes another pass.

But Misha didn’t come down here to make Jensen’s dirty fantasies come true … at least, that wasn’t his intention. So he’s soon pulling his hand away and begins working the man’s pants free from his legs, and then his briefs too—tossing it all onto the floor in front of the seat. Soon, Jensen’s legs are bare and bowing around him—twitching eagerly. Misha swallows hard. “I want you to have a hard time walking back into that room.”

“Oh yeah?” Jensen challenges, gritting his teeth so loud that Misha can hear it.

“You bet this tight ass of yours.” And Misha is quickly wriggling himself up onto the backseat as well. He has to hunch down to fit, but he manages, eventually snaking his hand between them so he can undo his own pants and let himself loose.

“You gonna come at me raw?” Jensen asks—tugging himself back slightly as he stares down at Misha’s eager dick.

“I got spit” Misha mutters, already feeling his brain fog with the idea of pushing into the man—something that can make him devolve quicker than anything.

“ _Nah_ , man …” Jensen retorts, twisting up and over to reach for his pants on the ground. After some shuffling and tugging, he pulls something free from the pocket, “use this.”

Misha blinks a few times before he finally focuses on the small bottle of lube. “You just happened to have this in your pocket?”

Jensen shrugs grandly until he shakes his head. “That’s what I came down here to get.”

Misha pinches his face into a mess of wrinkles and edges. “Seriously?”

Jensen shrugs again.

“So you just thought that you would go back, find me and I’d just be all over you … just like that? Especially after all that crap you pulled?”

“Kinda worked, didn’t it?” Jensen says smugly, nodding down towards Misha’s cock—hovering between his spread legs.

And if Misha wasn’t so fucking turned on by all this man’s cocky confidence and self-assuredness, he’d button right back up and leave him naked and wanting in this cold parking garage. He should do that … he really should; but Misha never did have much sense when it came to Jensen Ross Ackles. “I swear to _God_ —” he rips the bottle from Jensen’s hand, wasting no time in cracking it open and squirting a giant glob onto his fingers. In a breathe, the cleft of the other man’s ass is slicked up and so is Misha’s dick—and he’s pushing inside him with one, hard and swift thrust.

Jensen howls with the burn he must be feeling, and the sound is both satisfying and insanely hot, so Misha tugs himself free and thrusts in again.

It feels too damn good that Misha can’t keep himself upright anymore, and he’s soon collapsing down onto Jensen’s chest, taking a moment to heave with him before  pulling down the neck of his shirt and biting divots into the hollow above his collar bone. “Feel that, Ackles? That’s me … _winning._ ”

He’s not even sure what he means by that but he hopes that the intention is clear.

Jensen is going to _behave._

_Why?_

Because Misha will fuck him dirty if he doesn’t.

Jensen’s eyes go wide and his throat strains when Misha begins to move inside him again. “ _Fuck_!”

“What’s that? You want me to fuck you _harder?_ ” Misha stutters, losing his own cool with how tight Jensen is clenching around him.

Jensen doesn’t say a word—just stares at the roof of the car as if it might hold all his hope for surviving this.

Misha hums excitedly one more time against the man’s skin before taking a deep breath and pushing himself up once more. Then, he’s hammering into Jensen like his only goal is to turn him to mush, and by the way he’s punching at the back of the driver’s seat, Misha thinks he’s succeeding. “That’s it, Jensen—take it!” He watches the guy’s cock bounce against his stomach, leaving drips and streaks strewn across his shirt. Misha wishes he could taste it, but he’s too close—and he knows if he moves too quickly, he’s going to lose it.

“Shit! Shit!” Jensen yelps, finally tilting upright and gawking at Misha as he plows into him—harder and faster than he was before.

Misha’s chokes when Jensen seizes on his dick, arching his back on the leather and shooting long, thick, milky stripes up over his own chest. He looks beautiful and wrecked, and exactly how he wanted him to be. “Yes … _fuck!”_ he growls, smacking his hips against Jensen’s red, tender ass several more times until he finally releases into him—shaking and ultimately crumbling across the man’s sweat-soaked button down.

“Fuck … Mish” Jensen wheezes after they both begin to sink with their own dead weight.

“You—you ready to apologize?”

Jensen chuckles dryly before smacking a hand across his forehead. “Will you do that again if I do?”

Misha smiles as he digs his chin into Jensen’s neck. “If you’re lucky.” He can feel Jensen grin against his cheek.

“Sorry, Mish.”

“Apology accepted.”

***

Jared was standing in the corner holding a plate full of food when Misha found him.

“That’s your second helping, isn’t it?”

Jared looks over to him and then grins—a crab puff still mushed between his teeth. “Third” he mumbles proudly.

Misha laughs and shakes his head. “You’re a bottomless pit.”

Jared swallows and then wipes his mouth with the napkin he has clutched in his other hand. “You were gone for a while, dude. What else was I supposed to do?”

“Ya got me there.” Misha pats Jared on the shoulder and then joins him in leaning against the wall.

“So …” Jared says after he swallows another mouthful of the _god-only-knows_ that he has stacked up on his plate, “where’s our friend?”

Misha peers up at him with a pleasant, little huff and then looks around to scan the room, trying to find Jensen amongst the crowd. He finally spots him near the end of the buffet table, so he nudges Jared and nods in that direction.

Jared sways from side to side, letting out a giant squawk of laughter when he finally sees Jensen—waddling awkwardly between the clusters of people.

“ _Shh_!” Misha hisses, doing his best to stifle his own laughs.

“Oh my god!” Jared snickers louder, spitting out some flecks of brie in the process. “When you said you were going to give him a piece of your mind, you must have given him a _very big_ piece!”

Misha laughs as he folds his arms across his chest—standing taller with his new, weighty pride. “Yeah … well, that just means I owe you a _very big_ piece of cake.”

The two continue to laugh and lose themselves in happy nudges and new inside jokes—not realizing that across the way, Jensen is taking note … eyes darkening with _a look_.

 


End file.
